


The Passion of Legolas Thranduilion

by surreysmum



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreysmum/pseuds/surreysmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The love of Legolas for the future King runs counter to the plans of the Valar. They put him through a terrible series of trials to prove his worthiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Passion of Legolas Thranduilion

[](http://s84.photobucket.com/albums/k35/surreysmum/?action=view&current=PassionofLegolasSmaller.jpg)  


Title: The Passion of Legolas Thranduilion  
Author: surreysmum  
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
Rating: PG-13  
Banner: By the wonderful and generous tularia  
Summary: Legolas must undergo a series of ordeals to prove his worthiness to love Aragorn.

 

**Part 1: The Wound and the Challenge of Manwë**

_Valar mentioned in this part:_

The Aratar: a collective term for the eight greatest Valar: Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Aulë, Mandos, Nienna, and Oromë.

Irmo (Lorien): Master of Visions and Dreams. Not part of the Aratar, but brother of Mandos and Nienna.

Manwë: King of the Valar, and ruler of the winds and air.

Mandos: the Doomsman of the Valar, and keeper of slain Elves in his Halls.

 

The Orcs were winning. For the moment, the Fellowship were backed into a tight circle, hobbits in the centre, Gandalf and the four warriors on the outside, staving off the relentless, murderous blows.

The Orcs were mindless, careless of their own lives, and that was what made them at once so dangerous and so easily killed. Not so the lone Uruk who travelled with this pack. He hung back, watching for opportunity, and Aragorn kept him warily in view even while wreaking slaughter on the Orc rabble. For the glint in the giant Uruk's eye was definitely directed at Aragorn.

There was a slight break in the chaos between them and Aragorn braced himself for defence as the towering Uruk covered the distance in three long strides. All of a sudden Aragorn was shoved firmly backwards as someone cried, "Estel!" and the next thing the Ranger knew was that Legolas was crumpling in front of him. The Uruk had smitten the Elf across the left shoulder; with a howl of satisfaction the monster made to deliver the deathblow.

That satisfaction was the last thing the Uruk knew. Aragorn cleaved him in twain with Anduril, then anxiously helped the hobbits pull Legolas to safety before he perforce turned to engage two more Orcs. On either side of him, Gimli and Boromir closed ranks.

In the end, Gandalf did not have to compromise their safety with magic to extricate them from the battle. Every Orc was slain by the warriors, and the only one of the Fellowship who had paid a price was Legolas. Aragorn knelt to him anxiously, and pulled the tunic away to gauge the extent of the wound.

"'Tis nothing, Estel," panted Legolas, trying vainly to hide his pain for the Ranger's sake.

"Nothing, forsooth!" replied Aragorn. "It is a deep and jagged wound, and if we do not take care, it will fester." He turned to the hobbits. "Sam, you know where my herb pouch is, don't you? Can you bring it, and someone else some water?" He leaned closer and though all of the Fellowship was gathered around in concern, for Legolas and Aragorn there was only each other. "You may be Firstborn, _mellon_ , but you are not invulnerable," chided Aragorn gently. "I was ready to defend myself against that Uruk. And this is not the first time you have flung yourself recklessly between me and a foe."

"Would you not do the same for me?" demanded Legolas, in a tone he meant to be indignant, but which actually trembled not a little.

"I hold your life as dear as my own, and would never hesitate to defend you," Aragorn told him firmly. "Though I have been hearing altogether too much of my 'great destiny' of late from old men who love to prognosticate, I would think my final fate just as worthy if it proved to be yielding my life for yours in battle. But I will not anger the Valar by tempting that fate without need, and neither must you."

Legolas was pale from pain and emotion, the more so since Aragorn was now carefully cleaning his wound with some of the water Gimli had silently brought. "I will scold you no more, _mellon_ ," said the Ranger, concerned, and he held a cup to the elf's lips. "Drink this, and it will give you some surcease from pain."

Camp was soon made, and Aragorn kept vigil beside his dozing patient as night came down. Gandalf settled himself silently beside them for a while. Eventually he said, "This is difficult for both of you."

"That he is injured? Mostly for him, methinks."

"You know what I am saying, Aragorn. There is no need for ill-timed jests."

Aragorn rested his brow on his hand and rubbed. "We have done nothing dishonourable."

"I know that," replied Gandalf placatingly. "But the road is long, and keeping your distance will be difficult."

Aragorn turned an anguished face to the wizard and, dropping into Sindarin, said urgently, "It is no mere lust of the body, Mithrandir."

"This too I know," Gandalf said in the same language. He lit his pipe with deliberation, and took several long puffs, considerately directing the smoke away from the sleeping Elf. "Have you considered breaking with Arwen?"

"May the Valar have mercy on me, I cannot," replied the Ranger. "It is not only that Elrond has advised me not to do so. It is not only that you yourself have intimated to me that she is destined to be my partner in the founding of a line of Kings. It is not even that Arwen has told me bluntly that breaking our troth will not prevent her from choosing mortality; that she will live only for my lifetime, whether happy or miserable, so I do her no favour by setting her free."

"Ah, you have spoken of this, then."

"At Arwen's insistence," replied Aragorn tightly. He touched the wizard's sleeve and looked imploringly into the wise old eyes. "I love them both, Gandalf. Elbereth forgive me, I love them both, and I do not know what to do."

Gandalf gently patted the hand on his sleeve for the moment. "I am not Mandos, who sees the future as clearly as the past," he said. "I have no certain knowledge of how your destiny will be accomplished, though I am convinced it will be a great one." Aragorn shrugged impatiently and Gandalf smiled with affection. "All I can advise you is to follow your own best impulses and to wait for a clear sign from the Valar. You are important to them, my dear boy, whether you choose to believe it or not, and that sign will come. Meanwhile, be strong for Legolas' sake."

Aragorn shook his head. "He is the strong one," he said. "When I burn, he cools me in the depths of those sea-blue eyes. When I am near to going mad, a few words in his silver voice restore balance and sanity. It is his doing alone that I manage to tolerate being in his presence and yet not in his embrace." He lifted the Elf's unresisting hand covertly to his lips.

"Both of you are formidable, each in his own way," rejoined Gandalf. "Get some rest now, lad. Gimli and Boromir are sharing the watch tonight; I can guard Legolas' slumber."

Aragorn did not move. "He will have troubled sleep tonight," he said. "The potion I gave him only masks the pain enough to let him enter his reverie." Legolas shifted and moaned in unconscious confirmation.

"Go on, my boy," replied Gandalf kindly. "I have watched a few sickbeds in my time. You can relieve me when the moon sets if you wish to sit with him in the dark before dawn. But for now, do not sap your own resilience."

Aragorn reluctantly saw the sense in this. As he made way for Gandalf to sit next to the wounded Elf, he ran a careful hand across the arm shifting restlessly outside the covers. "I wonder what he is dreaming about," he said.

"Ah, only Irmo knows that," replied the Maia.

/-/-/-/-/

Legolas was tossing and twisting helplessly through the stormy air at the mercy of a great buffeting wind. His limbs flailed helplessly and his eyes streamed. He could hear nothing but the howling tempest.

After what seemed like an endless time, he was deposited upon a small, precarious platform at the very peak of a high mountain. The sun came out suddenly and shone so fiercely in his face that he had no choice but to bow his head.

"Legolas Thranduilion." The voice was loud but elusive, everywhere and nowhere at once, like the cry of the wind.

"Aye, my Lord Manwë," whispered Legolas fearfully, wishing there was space upon his tiny perch to kneel.

"Ah, so you know me." There was gratification in the booming voice. "Do you also know why I have brought you here to Mount Taniquetil?"

"Nay, my Lord."

"I will tell you. You have been a subject of some consternation amongst the Valar, Legolas Thranduilion, you and your ill-conceived passion for the Man they call Aragorn. A great destiny awaits him; he will achieve high fame and great deeds, and re-establish the line of the Kings of Gondor. All this is foretold."

"I knew it," Legolas said to himself with great gladness.

"But it appears that your devotion to him is returned, Elf" - Legolas looked up in delight at the acknowledgment, then quickly dipped his head again - "and that poses certain problems for the continuation of his line, does it not? Indeed some of my more impulsive brethren were of the opinion that we should simply consign you to Mandos' Halls forthwith."

Legolas' gladness was suddenly replaced by great dread. "I am too insignificant to merit such attention, Lord Manwë," he said meekly. "I have not pressed my suit, nor will I ever do so if it is your will to forbid it."

There was a massive rumble which Legolas belatedly realized was the spirit's laughter. "I daresay you might even keep that promise, little Elf," said Manwë. "But Aragorn is a stubborn man, and his passions are strong. Nor are you as insignificant as you claim: none amongst your Fellowship is, in these troublous days. Nay, there are but two choices: to remove you entirely from Middle Earth, or to reweave all your destinies so that your love may become part of the greater Song, rather than making discord within it. Which of these two we choose depends on you, little Firstborn."

"What must I do, my Lord?" asked Legolas

"The Aratar have resolved to test your worthiness. Your strength, your courage, your wisdom, your endurance, and, to be sure, the depth of your love for Aragorn - all of these will be put to trial. It will be a bitter ordeal, perhaps with an even more bitter end. Even should you pass muster, you will not escape unscathed." He paused. "Or, if you so choose, I will summon Mandos now to escort you with easy passage to his Halls of Waiting, where you will stay until the end of the world. To mortal eyes, you will appear to have succumbed to your wound. What say you, Legolas Thranduilion?"

Legolas drew a long breath. "I will undertake the ordeal, my Lord," he said. "I cannot leave him without a struggle."

"So be it," rumbled the wind, and Legolas was roughly borne aloft in the tempest's embrace once more.

 

**Part 2: Through Mirrors and Trees**

 

_Valar mentioned in this part:_

Nienna: Queen of Tears, teacher of pity and endurance. She is the sister of Mandos, and goes often to his Halls of Waiting to comfort and counsel the dead there.

Oromë: The Huntsman of the Valar; also known as Araw, or Aldaron ("Lord of Trees"). In ancient times he often rode in the forests of Middle Earth.

 

West and further West he was carried to a strange structure on the very edge of the World. He was placed on his feet in a large and decorative courtyard, the ground covered in an elaborate mosaic of many shades of grey. "Your first task is to find your way through yonder maze," whispered the departing wind. "Do nothing in haste."

And then there was silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of the dangling branches of the willow trees that guarded the perimeter. Austere marble statues were set at intervals around the yard, and Legolas wandered from one to the next, amazed at the skill with which the artist had rendered expressions of grief, of pity, of despair and consolation. "This is the home of Nienna, Queen of Tears," he concluded. At length he reached an open archway and, looking within, was shocked to see many images of himself looking back. Then he realized that this must be the maze of which Manwë had spoken and that every wall of it was lined with mirrors.

"Do nothing in haste," murmured Legolas to himself, and he took himself back out into the courtyard to see whether there might be any clue or aid to guide him through the puzzle. But the statues bore no inscriptions, and the willows merely rustled their branches again in commiseration. Then Legolas' eye fell on the elaborate mosaic beneath his feet, and of a sudden he understood that it was a map of the path he must take. Carefully he studied it, walking and memorizing each turn. Several times over he did this and then, focusing his mind strictly on the maze and not upon the fearful unknowns which lay beyond, he passed through the arch.

At first it went well. Ignoring all the frowning blond elves around him, Legolas threaded his way amongst the mirrors by a combination of memory and touch, groping his way around the expected corners even when the endless reflections confused his sight. He grew more confident and began to walk more quickly. And then he turned to his left, and bumped into an uncompromising sheet of glass.

Legolas paused to calm himself. It was only one mistake. He had simply tried to turn one step too late or too soon. Carefully he felt along the line of mirrors on the left, looking for the gap he sought. Farther back and farther forward he went but the wall of mirrors was unbroken, no seams or hinges between their frames. Knitting his brows, Legolas retraced his steps to his last turn, and felt his way tentatively a little in the opposite direction. But the only opening to his left led immediately to a dead end.

Legolas closed his eyes, concentrating on the map he had memorized, and trying to match it to his recent movements. He was not lost - he was sure of it. If need be, he was confident he could retrace his steps to the entrance and consult the mosaic once more. "Nothing in haste," he said aloud to himself again.

Fifteen turns and many sighs later, Legolas admitted the inescapable. He was indeed lost. He slumped to a sitting position, joined in his despair by hundreds of mirror-Legolases. If only they were not so very distracting!

Legolas consulted his mental map once more. There was only one long, straight corridor in the maze, right next to the exit. He was sure he must be in or near it, but the multiplication of images made it impossible to see. Smiling slightly, Legolas pulled his bow from his shoulder. He had plenty of arrows. Shoot enough in each direction and he would soon either have a long arrow-flight to follow down the straight corridor, or else break right through the irritating mirrors to his destination!

A grey-gloved hand reached through a gap he had failed to see and grasped his bow-arm. "Do not destroy my mirrors, little Elf, but come through here and visit me." It was a woman's voice, beautiful but melancholy.

Legolas followed the gentle tug of the arm round one more corner and found himself in a large, forbidding cave, dominated by a splendid mirror set at its centre.

The woman turned to him. Her features were shrouded behind the hood of her long, grey cape. "They have sent you to me here at the edge of the world so that you may learn more of yourself in my looking glass," she told him. "Do you know who I am, Legolas?"

Legolas bowed to her. "I believe so, my Lady. Are you not Nienna, the Queen of Tears?"

"Aye," she said. "Long have I wept for Elfkind and Mankind, and pitied their griefs. I pity you, Legolas, more than most."

It was on the tip of Legolas' tongue to ask her why, but he dreaded the answer, and she showed no inclination to go on. Instead she moved him gently in front of the mirror, standing behind his left shoulder so that he had an unimpeded view of his own image.

"Manwë seeks to know if you are worthy of the future King," she murmured. "Tell me, Legolas, do you think you are worthy?"

Legolas contemplated the Elf in the looking-glass. He was a prince of his people, famous for his prowess with a bow and proven in battle. His body, though slender, was strong and well-formed. He had been told since he was an Elfling that his face was fair, and though Aragorn rarely said so in words, by his glances he seemed to share that opinion.

"Yes, my Lady, I believe myself worthy of him," said Legolas firmly.

"You are vain, little Elf," she told him, and seizing his hair in a rough grasp at his nape, she produced a pair of shears with the other hand and cut it all off in one stroke.

Legolas saw shock overtake the features of the Elf in the mirror, even as his hands flew automatically to his neck. "Why?" he gasped.

"Such consternation over such a little loss," she mocked him. "It is as nothing compared with the loss you face if you give your love to a mortal, Legolas. Have you considered it at all? His life is as the flick of a butterfly's wing, and when it is over, you will have until world's end to grieve him."

A great sadness had crept into the eyes of the shocked, shorn Elf in the mirror. "I have thought much on it, my Lady," Legolas said simply. "And it makes no difference."

"And what of Arwen?" she went on ruthlessly. "He loves her, does he not?"

"He thinks he does," said Legolas, and then quickly, honestly amended, "and so I think also." He lifted his chin. "But he loves me as much. Or perhaps even better."

"A divided heart, given only for a brief moment, and then an aeon of grief. Will you not renounce this folly, Legolas? Will you not give up hope?"

"It is too late to go back, my Lady," said Legolas. "However painful it may be, however fleeting, he has my love." The Legolas in the mirror blurred at this declaration, filtered through the tears of the Legolas now held tightly in the Lady Nienna's arms.

"Then truly you have my pity, little Elf," she said sadly. "I take no pleasure in the pain and trials that await you, but only wish you well." She turned him from the mirror and into her embrace. "With sorrow comes consolation, little Greenleaf," she told him quietly, stroking the pathetically shorn head. "Remember to take it when it is offered."

Legolas wiped his tears and gazed at her, catching a glimpse of the pale face under the capacious hood. "You are wise, my Lady," he said and she allowed him to kiss her hand.

"I have made you sad," she said regretfully. "Perhaps a hunt in the woods might bring you cheer? Come, my cousin Oromë awaits you!"

She led him out of a small door on to a path leading into a great forest. Legolas breathed the fresh, leaf-scented air gratefully. He turned to Nienna, but she was gone, so he walked down the path, feeling his vigour restored with each step into the realm of the trees.

He heard the beat of horse's hooves long before Oromë galloped into view, a large hound running alongside. The Vala appeared young and virile, and was simply clothed in a green tunic and matching hat with a jaunty feather. Only upon closer inspection could you see that his belt was made of priceless emeralds.

"Well met, Legolas!" he hailed the Elf as he approached. Jumping lightly down from his magnificent white steed, he clapped the Elf companionably on the shoulder. "A fine day for a hunt!" he went on. "How say you?"

Legolas doubted whether he had any choice in the matter, but it was indeed a fine day. "I would be honoured, my Lord Araw," he replied, using the Vala's Sindarin name.

The white horse nickered and nudged the Elf with his muzzle. The Vala laughed. "Nahar likes you," he remarked.

"He is magnificent," replied Legolas. "The Men of Rohan boast that their great horses are descended from him, and now I see why." He looked around. "Is there a steed for me, my Lord, or do we go afoot?"

"You will be afoot, Legolas," said the hunter. "In this deep forest, you will need all your agility and stealth. Ah," he added with a reminiscent smile, "how fond I am of the Firstborn and their forest lore! When I first woke them at Cuivienen, they learned to move silently through the trees almost before I could teach them! I trust you are as adept as your grandfathers, Legolas!"

Legolas bowed his head and fervently hoped the same.

"Well, off you go, then," said Oromë cheerily. "Any direction you like. I give you an hour's start."

Realization dawned. "You hunt me?"

The Vala frowned. "What did you think I would be hunting?" he snapped, and Legolas was forcibly reminded that of all the Valar, Oromë was most renowned for his irascibility.

"Your pardon, My Lord," he said immediately. "I misunderstood the nature of my test. Is there an ending time for the hunt?"

"Why, when I catch you, of course," replied Oromë, with a not altogether pleasant smile. As Legolas' eyes widened, he added impatiently, "Oh, very well, if you are not in my clutches by sundown, you may say you have won. But I will catch you, believe me."

"And if you do?" Legolas asked in trepidation.

"I doubt you wish to know the answer to that," replied the Vala. "Now run, little Firstborn, run and hide in the forest."

Legolas needed no further urging. Eschewing the well-marked path before him, he slipped out of sight between two large trees and then began to run and run.

Taking full advantage of his hour's grace, Legolas employed every trick he could think of to throw hunter, horse and hound off his trail. He changed course frequently, stayed well clear of brush where he would leave broken twigs to mark his passage, walked up or downstream in any watercourse he encountered so that his scent would be lost. More than once, where the trees were sufficiently dense, he climbed into the solid lower branches and made his way for a time from tree to tree, never touching the ground at all.

Silently and swiftly he moved through the forest, not so very different from his Mirkwood home. And as the sun began to descend from its mid-day zenith, Legolas cast his mind to escape. He felt sure he was on the island of Aman: could he somehow reach the eastern shore? Had anyone ever taken passage from Valinor to Middle Earth on the White Ship - after all, it did have to make a return journey, did it not? Legolas set his course hopefully towards the east, and towards the Ranger who held his heart.

The bark of Oromë's hound seemed to come out of nowhere. Legolas barely had time to choose an ancient tree and conceal himself in its foliage before the Vala came into view. With a suppressed sigh of relief, Legolas watched the hunter trot by beneath at a brisk pace, not stopping to investigate his hiding place. It was as well for the Elf, perhaps, that he did not see the sly smile that passed over Oromë's face as he rode past his prey.

After a nervous while, Legolas resumed his journey, now even more than before sacrificing comfort for concealment, choosing the rocky or watery path wherever possible. Anor declined noticeably towards the horizon and the Elf shivered in his wet clothes as the heat of the day began to depart. Cat-footed though he was, by the time he reached the edge of the forest he had acquired an impressive collection of bruises and scrapes from his scrambles over the rocks and through unavoidable thickets.

Peering cautiously into the clearing beyond the last tree, Legolas' heart sank. Before him lay no plain, no city, no port, but an unexpected and deserted seashore. One large island with no sign of habitation hovered in the evening mist a few miles offshore. Legolas turned despondently back into the forest.

There was the whistle of a single arrow and a sudden jolt of fierce pain in the front of his left shoulder, and before his cry stopped echoing through the forest, Legolas found himself backed up against a tree by an exultant and very solid Vala.

"Well met again, little Firstborn," said Oromë, smirking. He placed a hand on either side of Legolas' head against the tree. "You are my captive."

Legolas lifted his head and looked the Vala in the eyes resolutely, though without defiance. "Aye my Lord," he acknowledged.

One of Oromë's hands moved slightly to trace the tip of Legolas' ear. "Courageous too," he murmured. "Very good, very good." He yanked his arrow out of the Elf's shoulder, so suddenly and unexpectedly that it was a merciful act. Legolas' head fell back against the tree-trunk as he was overtaken by momentary dizziness. He could not have fallen in any case - Oromë had him too well-pinned for that.

"You led me a merry chase, little Elf," said the Vala. "For a mere Firstborn, your forest-craft is impressive." Legolas warily nodded his acknowledgment of the compliment. "But I hope you have learned from this that there is no running from the Valar, no escaping what is destined. Surely you did not really believe you could make your way back to Middle Earth and avoid the rest of your ordeal?"

"I had to try, my Lord."

"So you did, so you did," said the Immortal, and his smile this time was not mocking but benign. "And now that you have lost our chase, little Elf, it is time for me to inflict my terrible torture upon you and then send you chastened upon your way." He leaned forward and captured Legolas' lips with his own.

It was heady and sweet beyond words, being kissed by a god. Almost as sweet, Legolas thought dizzily, as Aragorn's embrace. Oromë drew back and laughed merrily. "You are indeed besotted with him," he observed. "Come on then, Elf, and I will show you your next task." Taking Legolas by the hand, he led him down to the sea's edge and pointed at the misty island. "There is your destination. You must swim, but it is not too far." Legolas took a hesitant step towards the water. "Nay, 'twould be best to shed your clothes and weapons first," said Oromë and the suggestion had the force of a command. The Elf stripped himself efficiently, suppressing his annoyance at the Vala's openly appraising stare.

"Aye, aye, it'll do," Oromë muttered to himself, but Legolas, already ashamed and concerned by his failure to outrun the hunter, did not venture to enquire exactly what would do, or for what purpose. The sting in his shoulder notwithstanding, Legolas thought he had come off considerably better than he deserved from the encounter.

Mustering all the dignity he could, he bowed to the Vala. "My Lord Oromë," he said, politely, then turned and plunged himself into the cool waves.

"Fare thee well, little Elf," cried the hunter cheerily. "And do not over-exert yourself, mind! 'Tis but a short distance!"

Legolas gritted his teeth in annoyance and swam a little faster.

 

**Part 3: Of Currents and Stillness**

_Valar mentioned in this part:_

Ulmo: Lord of the Seas, known for keeping watch over Elves and Men

Yavanna: Called the 'Giver of Fruits.' Yavanna was the Vala whose province was all growing things upon the earth. She was the spouse of Aulë the Smith.

 

The chill of the water was pleasant and soothed the pain of his injured shoulder, though every stroke with that arm was decidedly an act of will.

After several minutes, Legolas lifted his head. To his consternation, he was not nearly as close to the island as he had expected. Treading water, he became aware of a strong undertow pulling him far off course. He braced himself and swam more vigorously against the current. The sun began to set behind him and his destination seemed to become less real in the dimming light.

After a long while, the tired and frustrated Elf was almost ready to cry quits. The sea had passed from cool to numbingly frigid, the waves had grown higher with the night wind, and to Legolas' despairing eyes, it seemed he was no nearer to the elusive island than he had been an hour of strenuous effort before. "Ulmo aid me!" he gasped aloud as his leaden limbs outright refused to take another stroke. His body was too light to sink and drown; was he to perish ignominiously from exhaustion?

From below him in the depths an enormous white shape rose to the surface. Legolas made futile efforts to avoid it, but when the water fell plashing and sucking away in all directions, he found himself prone and marooned on the broad back of a huge white whale. And he was glad of it. For a few seconds he merely rested his weary limbs and indulged in the gratifying sensation of being still.

"I am pleased you called on me at last," the whale told him in his mind.

"I was too stubborn, my Lord Ulmo," acknowledged Legolas. "It seemed like such an easy thing, to swim that short distance."

"Sometimes the undercurrents can make the shortest distance into the most difficult task," agreed the whale. "But tell me, Legolas, why did you persist in swimming against the current for so long? You have worn yourself out to no purpose."

"What choice did I have?" asked Legolas, a little mutinously. "My task is to reach the island."

"Turn on your back and float a little," Ulmo instructed him, sinking gently down so that there were a few feet of water between the massive body and the Elf. Legolas obeyed. "Now, look around you. Which way does the current tend?"

Ithil shone brightly in the sky, and Legolas had no difficulty telling in which direction he was drifting. "To the north, my Lord. Perhaps a little to the north-east."

"Aye, Elf. And the island lies due east of you. Now raise yourself up and look carefully for signs of the current's course. Can you discern any?"

After a moment or two of treading water, Legolas said, "The waves dash violently against some rocks on the northern shore of the island, but I know not how to read that. I have no sea-lore, my Lord."

The whale rose again to the surface, catching the weary Elf on its back once more. "There is no shame in being unable to see below the surface, Firstborn. Even the seafaring races cannot always discern how a current will affect their vessels. But you have a good eye: this current does indeed swing east close by the northern shore of Yavanna's isle. If you let it take you, you will catch sight of a sandy beach just yards away from you - be sure to swim hard then, or you will be dashed upon those rocks you saw!"

Legolas slumped in great relief and pressed his forehead against the whale's smooth, rubbery hide. "I cannot begin to express my gratitude…" he began.

"None is necessary, little Elf, if you only carry away with you this one lesson: when caught up in strong currents beyond your control, do not immediately fight them, but ride them a little to see whether they bring you closer to your destination." And with that, the whale plunged gracefully once more into the sea, leaving Legolas to absorb the wonder of the encounter as he let the current take him.

Within a few minutes, the Elf was in striking distance of the promised beach, and he used his last strength to pull himself ashore, collapsing upon the moonlit sand.

/-/-/-/

The first sensation Legolas noticed the next morning was heat - wonderful heat from the sun, all down his exposed back and legs. The second sensation was of something sweet and juicy being gently pushed past his parched lips. He opened his eyes.

"Good morning to you, Elf!" said the woman sitting at his side. "Have a little more fruit?"

Legolas sat up suddenly, acutely aware of his nakedness. He covered himself with his hands. The woman, lovely and curvaceous, and possessed of perfect skin darker than any Legolas had ever seen, was wearing little enough herself. She laughed.

"No cause for blushes, Legolas. You will need little clothing here on my warm island!" But she handed him a ridiculously large leaf, from what kind of tree he did not know, and he was able to fasten it round his trim waist for a modicum of decency.

"Thank you, my Lady Yavanna," said Legolas, remembering his manners at last. That caused another peal of laughter. "Call me Yavanna, my dear," she said. "We do not stand on ceremony on my island. We are much too busy growing and thriving!"

She took him by the hand and led him inland. Truly she had spoken no more than the truth - never had Legolas seen such variety and abundance of living, growing things. Brightly-coloured birds and strange animals flitted in and out of the enormous trees and thick undergrowth. Yavanna led the way with practiced ease into a small clearing thickly carpeted with long, lush grasses. Seating herself upon a natural tree-stump smoothed with age, she invited Legolas to take a similar seat. She plied him with wondrous fruits, large and small, fibrous and juicy, filling and delicate, and all the colours of the rainbow. "This is truly a magnificent paradise you dwell in, my L… I mean, Yavanna," said Legolas rather indistinctly through a sweet mouthful of pineapple.

"I am pleased you like it," responded Yavanna with a lazy stretch. "Nothing is forbidden or restricted here, nothing held back. True, it can be a little wild sometimes." Legolas could swear she winked at him, and he shifted uncomfortably. "But all around is the joy of merely being alive!" A little creature with a long tail but oddly human-looking hands and face came to sit on her shoulder, and the Elf watched fascinated as she played with the lively and intelligent creature.

So rapt was he that it took a few seconds before Legolas became aware that a snake had glided silently up his left leg and now insinuating its way around his middle, past the half-discarded palm leaf.

Yavanna looked over in mild alarm. "Do not move," she said quietly. "The bite of that one is poisonous, and he is easily startled."

"Yavan..," began Legolas, but she shook her head, warning him not to speak. Legolas held still, repressing his natural impulse to throw the thing off as it eased its sinuous way across his skin. Twice and three times around Legolas' bare torso the snake wound itself, while the Elf scarcely breathed. The Vala sat completely still at a short distance, watching the Elf's heroic efforts to suppress every twitch. Her gaze was dark and unblinking, almost hypnotic. Like that of the snake itself, Legolas thought, with a sudden and most untimely desire to giggle hysterically. He dug his teeth into his lip and watched the reptile coil itself lazily back down towards his legs.

All around him the vibrant wildlife mocked his enforced stillness. Birds cawed and shrieked more loudly than before, it seemed, flapping their way in streaks of scarlet and yellow across the brilliant blue sky. Only yards away, Yavanna's small companion and his brothers chattered away in fervent monkey dispute. Small insects droned in the air about him, causing strenuously-repressed shudders when they landed and crawled on his neck and shoulders, so unaccustomed to being bared. Everything around him moved freely while Legolas sat paralyzed by the reptile.

The Elf became aware that Yavanna had silently possessed herself of a long, sturdy stick. "Do not," he murmured against orders. "He will harm you."

"This snake and I have long since made our peace," she replied in an equally low tone. "He can no longer cause me grief." She moved the end of the stick closer to the snake's head.

Nearby, a lion abruptly roared as he chased another magnificently-maned lion across the clearing. Legolas jumped, and the snake dug its fangs deep into his upper thigh, then slithered discontentedly off into the undergrowth.

Yavanna was between Legolas' knees in a second, her plump lips against the pale wounded flesh, sucking as hard as she could. Eventually she raised her head and spat. "How do you feel?" she asked urgently.

"Dizzy and a little sick," whispered Legolas, clinging to her for support without fully realizing it.

"Aye," she said with understanding. "But it will get no worse and will be fine in the morning. I have extracted the worst of the poison. Come and lie down."

She helped him on to a broad lower branch of one of the great trees and lay down with him in a hollow that could have been shaped for a bed. Feeling safe at last, he buried his face against her breast and drifted off to sleep. His last conscious memory was of her gentle whispers in his ear. "You see, little Elf, it is best to make peace with the snake. If he chooses to bite, all the holding still in the world will not save you. Now sleep, precious little Firstborn. You will need all your strength for the morrow, when you will meet with my dear, gruff old husband."

 

**Part 4: Of Loss and Resolution**

_Valar mentioned in this part:_

Valier: female Valar (plural)

Aulë: The first and greatest Smith, master of Earth and of Steel.

Mandos: Judge and Doomsman; Keeper of the Halls of the Dead

Manwë: King of the World, and Ruler of the Air

Varda: Queen of the Stars, and the greatest of the female Valar; wife of Manwë.

Nienna: Queen of Tears

Yavanna: Queen of Growing Things

Irmo: Master of Visions and Dreams

The tale of Maedhros and Fingon is also from the Silmarillion, though the suggestion that they were anything more than friends is mere fan speculation.

 

Legolas woke in a far different place. The sky glowered a dangerous purple and there was thunder in the air. He was fully clothed again, and even his fighting knives were restored to him, though not his bow and quiver.

There was a harsh, rhythmic clanging coming from a little distance away. Legolas pulled himself stiffly to his feet and went to investigate, limping a little. First he noticed that he was on a high, almost featureless plateau, barren of everything but rock, and falling away in steep cliffs on at least three sides. Then sparks and flames drew his eye to the smith at the far edge. He was a brawny, heavily bearded creature, short in stature: a Dwarf. Legolas felt a sudden pang - if only his verbal sparring partner and good comrade Gimli were here!

The Dwarf paused in his hammering and looked up at the Elf. There was power burning in his eyes. Not a Dwarf, then, but the maker of all Dwarves, the Vala Aulë, master of earth and steel.

"There you are, Thanduilion," he said, pumping the bellows on his small fire. "I much mislike this business, so let us have it done and over with. Give me one of your hands." Legolas hesitated. "Either one, it matters not."

Legolas proffered his left hand. "The left, eh?" went on Aulë conversationally as he hammered a steel cuff skilfully closed around Legolas' left wrist without actually burning the fair skin, though the metal was very hot. "For Maedhros it was the right, or so I heard." He plunged Legolas' hand, cuff and all, into a pot of water where it hissed itself cool in a second.

"Maedhros," murmured Legolas apprehensively. Like all Elves he knew the terrible story of that troubled Elf, suspended by the wrist from an unscalable cliff by the first Dark Lord. He had hung there in unutterable torment, some said for years, unable to free himself and unable to die. He was not released until Fingon, foe of his family, but friend to him (and more, some whispered), was borne up to him by a friendly eagle sent by Manwë. And even then, Maedhros could only be freed by the severing of his hand.

Aulë gently pushed Legolas to the point where the length of chain attached to his cuff disappeared over the side of the cliff.

"Am I to share Maedhros' fate, my Lord?" asked Legolas, suppressing his trepidation.

"No two beings share exactly the same fate," replied the Vala cryptically. "Over you go, then!" And with a firm shove at the Elf's back, he toppled Legolas over the edge.

Legolas' yelp of surprise became a cry of pain as his full weight was suspended from his injured shoulder. Immediately he grasped the shackles with both hands and began to climb. His heart sank as he reached the spot where the other end of the chain was solidly anchored in the sheer cliff face. It was so ingeniously simple and deadly. The end of his chain was fastened so far below the cliff edge that not even by the most acrobatic exertions could he possibly clamber his way up, even if the smooth rock offered a toehold. Beneath him, the ground was distantly visible, a comfortless, featureless plain stretching away to merge at the horizon with the lowering indigo sky.

At the edge of the cliff, Aulë's bearded face appeared, his expression unreadable. "Fare thee well, brave little Elf," he said, and disappeared. And Legolas was left alone with his pain.

The Elf lowered himself as gently as he could back to the end of the chain, and tried to find the most comfortable position to hold. But there was none. For the first time he found himself truly envying his Ranger's frail mortality. If Legolas were Human, he would soon perish here - from exposure, from hunger, from thirst. But none of those would kill an Elf. He had been put here to suffer, and suffer he would. Like Maedhros.

Legolas' gaze travelled down once more past his feet to the unattainable ground. And he realized he had something Maedhros did not have. Two things in fact.

His knives.

Carefully he extracted one of them from its sheath, and began to poke and explore his fetters with its tip, seeking a weakness he could force apart. There was nothing. Aulë was the greatest of master smiths, and there was not a thin link in the chain nor a feeble point in all the shaped metal between Legolas' reddened wrist and the uncompromising bolt driven deep into the cliff face. Growing fatigued and angry, Legolas began to hack away with all his force at the cuff, at the chain, at the very cliff face. His knife shattered into four pieces that fell with mocking laziness to the ground, leaving but a useless hilt in the Elf's hand. With a cry of rage, he flung it away, and paid the price for the abrupt movement with an agonizing stab of pain through his wounded shoulder.

Legolas was determined not to weep. If it was necessary for him to endure this for Aragorn's sake, then he would endure it. He would not gratify his tormentors with any more display of weakness. There had been enough of that; _this_ test he would not fail.

And yet there was moisture on his face. As he raised his free hand unbelievingly to his cheeks, and looked at the black clouds scudding ever closer through the darkening sky, Legolas realized that the Valar had not yet exhausted their cruel ingenuity. The rain came lightly at first, spattering his face and hands, but soon it turned to a ferocious downpour, chilling him through and soaking his clothes so he hung more heavily in his bonds.

Then the wind started, at first merely swaying him back and forth, and then, as the tempest grew, slamming him savagely into the cliff face or twisting him around in the air and wrapping him in vicious knots with the iron chain. Legolas' moans of torment were swallowed in the crack of the thunder and howl of the gale. "Lord Manwë, have mercy, I beg you!" gasped the Elf, but this time it seemed his prayer went unheard. He must endure his full meed of suffering.

When the storm finally ended, as all storms must, Legolas was left dangling limply by his abraded wrist, no longer aware of his individual hurts but simply thrumming in pain and wishing he could let go of his last thread of consciousness. Eventually he opened his eyes, and reaching slowly and with difficulty, pulled out his remaining knife. He contemplated it muzzily. Elves could die of battle-wounds, but Legolas truly did not know whether he could die from such a wound self-inflicted. He had never heard of any Elf committing suicide, so unthinkable was it amongst his people. And yet, if he had to endure this degree of agony for any length of time, he would surely go insane.

Legolas thrust the knife roughly back in its sheath. He would not die, and he would not go insane. He would not fail.

And so, rather than go mad, Legolas began to sing. He sang of the Fellowship's Quest that had brought him into Aragorn's constant company, and he sang of his own pure, boundless love, but mostly he sang of the Man. Every adored detail was itemized, every characteristic gesture described and praised. The Ranger's prowess with his sword occupied Legolas for twenty-nine full stanzas. And it seemed as if the singing of the song returned some strength to the Elf, for his voice rang ever louder and clearer across the plain as he went on.

From the horizon appeared a small, dark-clad figure, so distant that only a lover's eye could have identified him. Legolas smiled painfully, assuming his mind was playing tricks on him, and sang on in praise of Aragorn's gentle, healing hands and even gentler heart. "He is brave but not boastful, humble but not weak; he inspires devotion even while not believing he deserves it," sang Legolas proudly. "His own distress he suffers without complaint, but he cannot endure that of another. His body is strong and beautiful, hardy and hale, but oh, so fragile, so fragile. Would that I could enfold him in my own body, averting every arrow with my flesh, unto the end of his days! But he will not have it so, and I honour him for that, I honour him…"

The figure on the plain, far from disappearing like any other mirage, was running, hastening ever closer to him, and now Legolas could hear Aragorn's anxious cry of "Legolas! 'Lasse!" borne to him on the fitful wind. The Elf ceased his song in wonder.

"Estel? Are you to be my Fingon?"

He thought of how Fingon had been forced to cut off Maedhros' hand to free him, and said aloud, "That, and much more than that, could I endure from you, my love, my Estel." For once freed by the song, the words of love could not be silenced again.

Now Aragorn neared the foot of the steep cliff, and Legolas looked all around the sky, praying fervently to Manwë that he would send an eagle once more to assist in the rescue. When the Elf looked down again, he cried out in horror.

Aragorn was mired in quicksand, up to his knees and sinking rapidly. Legolas saw the flash of Anduril as Aragorn pulled it out and tried to use it to reach solid ground. But the sword dropped uselessly into the hungry sand, and Aragorn stopped struggling as it became apparent to him and to his helpless watcher that movement would only steal from him the few seconds of life he had remaining. As the greedy earth swallowed his shoulders, Aragorn leaned back his head seeking a last glimpse of the Elf.

Legolas roused himself from his momentary paralysis of horror. Pulling out his remaining knife, he slashed clean through his left wrist. There was the sickening crunch of steel through bone, a brief shower of blood, and then Legolas was falling, falling to the foot of the cliff.

He rolled instinctively as he landed. Half-blinded by the pain and no longer truly able to think, he stumbled by sheer will on miraculously unbroken legs the few steps that separated him from the quicksand; he groped for Aragorn, and felt him stir. But the Elf's right hand could get no grip and his left was useless. The Man slipped out of his grasp.

Suddenly a very tall being all in black stood beside him. "This is not the way," he said in a low, tuneful voice. He reached into the sand and effortlessly pulled forth Aragorn by the scruff of the neck, dropping him carelessly in a crumpled heap on solid earth.

Legolas looked up into a stern and beautiful face, serene and implacable, with deep blue eyes that seemed to look far beyond him. The pain had diminished enough to let the Elf form a few words. "My Lord Mandos," he murmured. "Please, may I go to him?"

With a slight wave of his hand, the great Judge and Doomsman, keeper of the Gates of Death, granted permission. Legolas knelt by Aragorn and stroked his sand-streaked face. The Man's eyes fluttered open. "'Lasse," he whispered. "Your hair…" And then, "And oh… your hand!" The Man struggled to his knees, seeking to see, to caress, to heal.

"Enough," said Mandos, and he seized Aragorn and pulled him away roughly, both hands trapped behind him. As Legolas got to his feet the ground cracked wide open before him, leaving him on one side of a deep chasm and Aragorn and the Vala on the other. The gorge extended as far as the eye could see in both directions, and from far below arose the unmistakable red light and sulphuric smell of the World's angry depths.

Mandos pushed Aragorn to stand at the very edge of the chasm, still holding him firmly captive.

"Well, Elf," he said, "you knew it would come to this, did you not? Do you now offer me your life in hopes I will spare his?"

"No, 'Lasse!" Aragorn cried out, twisting futilely in Mandos' hold. And Legolas hesitated on the brink.

"My Lord," he addressed the Vala meekly. "I am told that you yourself have foreseen a great destiny for this Man. Will you not spare him so he may achieve it?"

"Do you prevaricate, Elf? Do you presume to try bargaining with me?" The Vala had not raised his voice, but the words thundered dangerously. "Nay, no more talk. Make your decision."

Legolas at last understood all that he had been taught on his journey. He knelt and bowed his head. "It is not my decision to make, my Lord Mandos," he said humbly. "I give my life if you require it. But I beg of you - spare him!"

Perhaps the Vala's immortal features softened slightly at the Elf's plea, but he said firmly, "Nay, it must be thus," and seizing Aragorn again by the scruff of the neck, he held him out over the fires of destruction and dropped him in.

Aragorn made no sound as he went to his death. The piteous scream that rent the air came from Legolas. The Elf curled himself into a small ball on the ground and sobbed uncontrollably. He had failed every test, and his love had paid the price.

/-/-/-/

When Legolas ran out of breath for weeping, he became vaguely aware of comforting hands on his shoulders and hair. "There there, little Elf," said Yavanna. "It is not as bad as you think," added Nienna on his other side. "Truly it is not."

Legolas could not conceive what they meant. Estel was dead - how could there be any consolation for that? As they helped him to his feet and wiped his face with a soft kerchief, Legolas realized they were no longer on the windswept plain, but in a magnificent palace. "Where am I?" he asked.

"On Mount Taniquetil, in the house of Manwë and Varda," Yavanna told him. "The Lady Varda will speak with you now."

"Elbereth," breathed Legolas, giving the Lady her Elvish name. It was to Elbereth that Elves addressed nearly all their prayers, and told all their deepest and most heartfelt desires. Could he plead with her to reverse Mandos' terrible decree and somehow let Aragorn live?

The two Valier ushered him into a room with curtains pulled back from a large glass door at the far end. Standing at the door, looking out, was a tall, queenly figure. She had her back turned to Legolas. It was an ill omen.

"Bring him here," she said in a melodic, curiously familiar voice. She did not turn to face them.

Yavanna and Nienna each gave Legolas a consoling kiss on the cheek as they left him with the Queen of the Stars. There was a short silence before she said, "I am satisfied, Legolas. You are indeed worthy of him."

"What matters that now?" he asked bluntly, desolately. "I failed every test, and he has been taken from me."

"Did you truly believe you could stand against the Immortal Powers, Legolas?" asked the Lady gently, still contemplating the stars on the other side of the glass. "Nay, it was not in the completion of the tasks but in the way you struggled, and listened, and learned, that you have proved yourself."

And still Legolas lowered his head and grieved, and asked in a low tone, "But to what purpose?"

"Oh my poor little Elf," she said. "You have not properly understood. No wonder you weep so piteously." And now at last she turned and walked to him. Legolas' jaw dropped in astonishment and dread. The Queen of the Valar wore Arwen's face.

"I am not surprised that you see her likeness in me," she said. "I am very fond of my Evenstar, and they say as she has grown into full womanhood, she resembles me more and more. And, too, I have been much besieged with prayers from her, my little StarMaiden, ever since your Fellowship set out. Prayers for Aragorn's well-being and yours. 'Let them love, Elbereth,' she beseeches me. 'It is better that way; their love will keep them strong and safe together.'"

And Legolas' heart smote him for Arwen's lost dreams as well as his own.

"Nay, nay, little Elf, I told you - you have not understood. Give me your hand and I will show you. No, the other hand."

Legolas proffered the stump of his left wrist and in amazement saw the hand restored under the Lady's touch. Hesitantly he curled his fingers around hers. She led him out onto a wide mountaintop balcony enfolded in the brilliance of the night stars.

"Come forth," she said to a figure in the shadows, and the Ranger emerged, looking dazed.

"Estel!" cried Legolas, but Varda shushed him, and took Aragorn gently by the right hand.

"He does not hear us," she said, "and he sees only you, thinking you are but an image in his sleeping dream. He will not remember this night's adventures when he wakes, but you will tell him all, will you not?"

"Aye, my lady, I will. But I still do not understand…"

"Time means nothing to Mandos, little Elf. He sees the present, the past and the future all in the same instant. What he showed you was what must be, not what is now. For we cannot make your King immortal, Legolas. It is not in the Great Song to change such things." Legolas nodded sadly. She turned troubled eyes on him. "Moreover you must know that my little StarMaiden will not be flung aside; indeed she will be greatly rewarded for her generosity of spirit. And Legolas," she added in a grave tone, "she will still be the mother of his line, make no mistake." Legolas nodded soberly once more. He did not ask otherwise. "And perhaps also mother of the line of Thranduilion," went on the Vala, caressing his shoulder lightly and smiling at Legolas' patent astonishment at the idea.

"But how?" he started.

"You must leave that to the Valar, little Elf. Fear not, we will manage all, and your World will learn to sanction, as we do. There are some loves for which even the plans of the Valar must be amended, and it seems this extraordinary Man has two of them."

Legolas looked over at the dreaming face of the King to be. "He has a great heart," he said. "It can bear two loves within it." He lifted her hand to his lips and looked into the luminous eyes that were so like Arwen's. "I thank you for your great kindness, my Lady."

She smiled and said, "When the time comes and my little Evenstar has taken her place in my sky, I will place the two of you there also, circling each other forever, and folk in future worlds will gaze upwards and name you The Lovers, wondering about your story."

Then she drew back a little, joining Legolas' left hand to Aragorn's right. "Take your place now at his right hand, where you belong, little Elf," she said. She faded into nothingness, and with her the great balcony, so that they stood together in the midst of the sky, unfettered and together. Aragorn turned to Legolas, murmuring, "My 'Lasse - my love." And as they kissed amongst the stars, nigh swooning with joy, Legolas felt as if he were dissolving too, merging into Aragorn as if they would never be anything but one being again.

/-/-/

Legolas opened his eyes to find both the stars and Aragorn were still there.

"Ai, I have wakened you," said Aragorn, withdrawing his hand from its gentle exploration around the bandage on Legolas' shoulder. "It is still deep night, but I was having nightmares - I cannot recall about what, but they were terrible - so I came to see how you fare."

"I too have been dreaming, Estel," said Legolas earnestly. "Oh, and Estel, what a dream it was, though I fear it was naught but wishes and delusion! I dreamed the Valar tested me, and even though I failed wretchedly, still they sanctioned our love."

Aragorn smiled wistfully in the blackness. "That was a dream indeed, 'Lasse. Would that it could be so." He touched the shoulder again. "How does this feel?"

"Comfortable enough."

"I will look at it when dawn comes, then."

"It is hours till dawn, and I will not sleep again. May I tell you the dream?"

Aragorn paused. "Aye," he said. "I would greatly like to hear it." He settled himself with his back to a tree, and Legolas scrabbled into his arms, leaning back against the Ranger's shoulder before he could protest. Not that the Ranger was much inclined to do so.

"I was caught up in a great storm," began Legolas.

And so he told Aragorn the whole tale, sparing no detail, not even to save his own blushes. When he came at last to the end, Aragorn leaned his cheek against the beloved yellow head, and said again with a sigh, "Would that it could be so."

Legolas looked up at the fading stars. "Do you suppose if we pray hard enough to Elbereth, she might make it come true?" he mused. "Estel, you have been crushing my left hand for the past fifteen minutes."

"Sorry," said Aragorn, loosing it, but just a little. He too looked at the sky and sent a silent petition to Elbereth. "Dawn is coming," he observed unhappily. "I should look at your wound."

Legolas reluctantly let himself be pushed off Aragorn's chest, and then suffered his shoulder to be inspected.

"It is healing well," Aragorn told him, running his fingers idly down Legolas' bare left arm. "'Lasse, what is this?" All the way round Legolas' left wrist, like a bracelet, there was a vivid scar. "But Elves do not scar…" said Aragorn slowly. He could not keep the hope out of his voice. "Legolas, could it be? It must be a sign from the Valar…"

"My dream was true! Estel, it is a sign my dream was true!" Legolas felt like shouting and jumping and running. Unable to hold still, he leapt to his feet and sprinted to the top of the rocky outcrop that guarded their camp, followed closely by a laughing Aragorn. From their high perch, they could see the sun just beginning to rise in the East, casting new light on the land whose fate still lay trembling so much in the balance.

Suddenly serious, Legolas turned to Aragorn and said, "It is also a reminder from the Valar, I think."

"Of what?"

"That I may be Firstborn, but I am not invulnerable." Aragorn understood immediately. "For our sake, and also for Arwen's," Legolas said solemnly, "I swear to you I will throw myself into no unnecessary danger from now on."

Aragorn caressed the Elf's face tenderly. "For our sake and hers," he replied, agreement and promise in one. And he pulled Legolas into a passionate kiss.

In the camp, Gandalf puffed at his first pipe of the day and looked up to see the embracing lovers silhouetted against the rising sun. "Well done, Irmo," he muttered, pleased. "Very well done."

 _finis_  
[My ficlist is here](http://surreysmum.dreamwidth.org/48133.html).


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